


Guilt-Ridden

by Clotpole_and_his_Lionheart



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Episode: s01e18 Something Wicked, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, I Don't Even Know, I Tried, I can't believe I wrote this 11 years ago, I was 15 years old
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-01-21 16:40:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12461736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clotpole_and_his_Lionheart/pseuds/Clotpole_and_his_Lionheart
Summary: What would have happened if Dean was unconscious for just a little too long in Something Wicked?





	1. What Could Have Been

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this back in 2006 for ff.net -- decided to edit a few things and post it on here. Only took 11 years! XD

"DEAN!" Sam shouted, watching in shock as his brother is thrown across the room, landing in a motionless heap on the floor. He watched him for a moment, praying that he would jump up, brush himself off and say something sarcastic. Unfortunately, that prayer was not answered.

Apparently, the Shtriga was not fatally shot by Dean's gun and turned for revenge. First Dean, now him. 

Before Sam knew it, the Shtriga was advancing on him. Without the chance to react, Sam was thrown into the wall, landing softly on the comfort of a beanbag chair. However, that comfort was soon diminished as the Shtriga held him down tightly by his neck. Sam grabbed the cloaked arm and pulled, hoping to somehow force its release. Realizing that pulling wasn't doing the trick, Sam reached his arm out toward his gun. He stretched as far as he could, staring at the gun from the corner of his eye. He gave up the effort as soon as he felt the hand move to his jaw, an odd sensation taking over his body, alerting his senses, yet calming his muscles. His body began to feel heavy, his mind clouding. He gazed into the mouth of the creature and was instantly hypnotized by the swirling pool of light inside. Sam let his body relax as the oxygen quickly escaped his lungs, rushing him uncomfortably into the darkness.

\---

Dean awoke to blinding pain invading his mind. Every inch of his body ached while he took a mental check of his limbs. Looking around trying to register where he was and what had just happened, the memories flooded back in a nauseating rush. The panic began to set in. 

The Shtriga. 

Sammy.

"Sam?" He picked himself up from the broken pieces of closet door, his eyes searching the room to find Sam lying on his back, unmoving. The Shtriga was nowhere to be found.

"Sam…" Dean whispered and ran, coming to an unsteady stop at Sam's side. Just behind him, a trembling Michael slowly emerged from underneath his bed.

"Sammy? Sammy, come on. Wake up!" Dean pleaded, lightly slapping his unconscious younger brother on the cheek. He moved his fingers toward Sam's neck, feeling for a pulse. He let out a sigh of relief at the feeling of pumping blood beneath his fingertips. 

However, the relief was quickly washed away when Dean heard a low, rasping sound coming from Sam's chest. Oh no.

"Michael! Call 911!"

"Is he gonna be okay?"

"I don't know! Just go call an ambulance!" Dean ordered, ignoring the pang of regret in his chest for yelling at the scared boy. Michael ran out of the room quickly, and Dean could hear him frantically talking on the phone. He turned back to Sam.

"Come on, Sam."

And with that, Dean bowed his head, and a single tear escaped his eye.

"I'm so sorry, Sammy."


	2. A Lot Can Change With Time

_It wasn't meant to be like this. Things weren't supposed to happen this way. It was going to be easy. Just wait until the Shtriga got close to Michael, burst in and kill the damn thing. Everyone should be fine. Michael, Sam, me, and all the other kids in the Pediatric Ward that are suffering from this illness. Sam shouldn't be laying in the bed, not in this condition. This is my fault. I should have never gone out that night to play the damn game. Why couldn't I have just obeyed Dad's orders and stayed in the motel room? If it wasn't for me, Sam and I would be in the Impala right now, joking around and looking for our next gig. It wasn't supposed to be like this._

Dean sat quietly in a chair, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. It had been only 2 days ago that he and Sam were joking and laughing about the old blind lady that scared the crap out of him. Only two days ago that Sam was using his Bikini Inspector ID to impersonate a doctor from the CDC. A lot has changed in two days. Now, Dean is an emotional wreck, Sam's unconscious, and the Shtriga hasn't made an appearance since that night.

He looked at Sam. So pale, so still, so lifeless. It was almost as if it wasn't his brother. The doctors hadn't been very optimistic; the children in the Pediatric Unit were worsening every day. But the doctors, they don't understand. Sam is a Winchester. Winchester's always pull through. _Sam is my responsibility. He has to get better._

"Mr. Connors? Dr. Wochinski would like to speak with you." A young nurse informed Dean, who was clearly lost in thought.

"Mr. Connors? Mr. Connors? Dean?"

"Huh? What? Sorry. What did you say?"

"It's alright. The doctor is here to talk with you."

"Oh, right. Thanks."

Dean gained his composure and stood up as the doctor entered the room. She was young, with long brown hair and sparkling hazel eyes. She reached out her hand to Dean.

"Mr. Connors?"

"Dean." He shook her hand.

"Dean. My name is Dr. Wochinski and I'll be the one taking care of Sam. I've reviewed his chart and I'm noticing that he's showing the same symptoms as the children in the PICU. Are you familiar with the what's going on up there?"

"Yeah. I mean, I just know that they think it's pneumonia." Dean replied.

"Something like that. All of the children, and Sam, are showing symptoms that would be considered pneumonia, but instead of improving with the usual treatment, their conditions are worsening. Their bodies are wearing out from all of the work of fighting off the infection. We've been trying to fight off what we think is the pneumonia with antibiotics, but so far have been unsuccessful."

That very sentence stabbed Dean in the heart. Unsuccessful. A word that explains so much more than the medicine. He looked back at Sam lying in the hospital bed.

"How long can his body handle this?" Dean asked, his eyes never leaving Sam's peaceful face.

"Well, your brother was healthy and in good shape before now, so that should factor in to how much his body can handle. We won't know how long this illness will last until we know more about what it actually is. What is concerning me most is his fever. It has been dangerously high since he was brought in two days ago. We're trying our best to bring it down, but if it keeps rising, it can become damaging to his body. But don't worry. It hasn't risen much in the past few hours, so that's a good sign. Do you have any other questions?"

"No. Thanks, Doctor."

"Get some rest Dean. The next few days will be rough. Your brother is going to need you healthy when he wakes up." She turned and left the room.

Dean went to shut the door, but decided to listen in as a nurse stopped Dr. Wochinski.

"Dr. Wochinski, one of the kids up in the PICU, with the illness, just died."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	3. A Brother's Pain

_Sam opened the door carefully, in hopes of surprising the love of his life, after being gone with his brother for the weekend. He noticed the emptiness and darkness of the apartment as he walked through the kitchen._

_"Jess! You home?"_

_A smile spread across his tired face as he spotted a plate of chocolate chip cookies sitting on the kitchen counter. Next to the plate sat a note reading, "Missed you! Love you!". Sam grabbed a cookie and bit into it. Still warm, he thought._

_He walked into the bedroom that he and Jess shared, expecting to see her sound asleep underneath the covers. The bed was empty, but he heard the shower running and felt the knot in his stomach disappear. Sam laid down on top of the covers, put his hands beneath his head, smiled, then shut his eyes._

_I hope Dean's not too upset. He seemed a bit odd when I got out of the c--_

_Sam's thought was cut short by what felt like a drop of water landing on his forehead. He thought nothing of it until two more came seconds after the first. Sam slowly opened his eyes, and what he saw would give him nightmares for the rest of his life. His girlfriend and soon-to-be fiance, Jess, was pinned to the ceiling. Her stomach was slashed, dripping blood on anything,and anyone, below._

_"NO!" Sam screamed, but the expression on Jess's face remained the same. He knew she was gone, even before the flames burst from beneath her body._

_"Jess!"_

Dean woke to the sound of rustling blankets, a beeping monitor, and screams of "No!" and "Jess!". His eyes flew open as soon as he recognized the sound of the voice.

"Sammy!" He jumped out of the chair and rushed to his little brother's side.

"Sam? Sam! Calm down!" Once Dean realized that the attempt to calm Sam had failed, he sought other help. He ran to the door and yelled, "Somebody help! I need a doctor!" Several nurses came running into Sam's room, pushing Dean outside of the door, telling him that they "need some room". Dean knew that it wouldn't help Sam if he caused a problem, so he stayed out of the way. He could still hear the rapid beeping of the heart monitor. It scared him to death knowing that he could do nothing for his brother at the moment. He needed to be the one that makes it all better. But this, this was so much bigger than stitching a cut, or icing a bruise. This was more advanced than what Dean's limited medical skills could handle.

A nurse walked out of the room and towards Dean. "Dean?"

"Yeah. What just happened?" Dean replied, nerves clear in his voice.

"Well, it seems that Samuel has had a nightmare, which caused him to have a panic attack. He's still unconscious, but we gave him something to calm him down."

"A nightmare?"

"Yes, nightmares are common among patients with high fevers. He seemed really freaked out. Has he experience something in his past that would bring on such fear?

"Yeah, his girlfriend was killed a few months ago. He saw it happen."

"Oh, I'm sorry. If your brother needs anything after he returns to good health, I know a good therapist that can help with these types of situations."

"No, it's alright. We can handle it."

"Alright, but my offer still stands." She walked away as the rest of the nurses exited.

Dean walked back into the room. Sam was laying in the same position as before. His face was expressionless, and now there was an oxygen tube running under his nose. Against the white sheets, Sam's skin looked paler than it had before, with a hint of pink painting his cheeks. _He's getting worse_ , Dean thought to himself. He still wanted to deny that fact that this was out of his hands, but couldn't help but think of how he could fix this. Dean pulled his chair up to the bed and sat down. He carefully grabbed Sam's hand, trying not to disturb any of the tubes and wires keeping his brother alive.

Choking back tears, he spoke. "Sammy, I don't really know what to say right now. This just gets harder and harder each day seeing you like this. I can't even being to tell you how much I need you to wake up for me, man. I keep trying to tell myself that things are going to get better and we'll be back in the Impala tomorrow, with you scouring the internet for our next hunt." He paused for a moment, and took a second to rub his forehead with his free hand. "Gosh Sammy, I'm so sorry. I failed you. Things aren't supposed to work like this. You can't leave me, I'm supposed to be the first to go. Hell, Dad's not even gone yet." He laughed. 

_Dad. I forgot to call Dad._

"You've gotta at least out-live Dad, right? Besides, the old man'll kill me if I ever let something happen to you. Hell, if he were here right now he'd wring my neck." Dean lifted Sam's hand to his forehead, so it covered his face as tears began to flow. "I know I'm really beating around the bush, but you know me, no Chick-Flick Moments." Dean laughed quietly to himself. Well, here goes nothing. "Sammy, it's my responsibility to care of you and I messed up. I can't lose you. Not now, not ever. You're all I have and you're the only person that can keep me sane. I know I never show it, but this life, our life, there are times that I just can't handle it anymore. I need you with me, telling me that everything will be okay. You're my brother and I love you. I just need you to get better. For me." Dean released Sam's hand carefully, masking his embarrassment,and walked into the bathroom to wipe his tears and calm himself before going into the hall.

As soon as he gained his composure, Dean left Sam's room and walked a bit, to an area where he could make a phone call. Once he reached the safe zone, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed his father's number.

"This is John Winchester. I can't be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son, Dean. 866-907-3235. He can help." The tone sounded.

"Hey Dad, it's Dean. I don't really know how to tell you this, but there's been an accident. You know the Shtriga from Fort Douglas, Wisconsin? Well, it's here again, but in Fitchburg. We tried to stop it, but we...it got Sammy. I'm so sorry. He's really sick. But, don't worry, you don't need to come, I can take care of it. I just thought you should know. Bye, Dad." Dean snapped the phone shut. He swallowed and blinked hard. He reopened his eyes and began to walk back to Sam's room.

On his way back, he walked past Dr. Hydecker. As they crossed paths, their eyes locked. Dean wore an angered glare, Dr. Hydecker a satisfied smirk. He knows that I know he did this. Dean broke the contact and continued to walk to back to the room. 

_I'm ending this. The bastard dies tonight._


	4. What Hurts the Most

Dean peeked his head into Sam's room for a quick check, making sure everything was just as he had left it. Satisfied, he continued walking past Sam's room until he ended up in the PICU, where he found Michael and his mother.

"Hey, Michael. How's Asher doing?" Dean asked, taking a seat next to a very upset young boy.

"Not good. He's getting worse. And he won't wake up." Michael said, his voice breaking. "How's your brother?"

"Not so good, either." There was a moment of silence as both watched the young boy in the bed before them.

"What's going to happen, Dean?" Michael asked, quietly.

"I don't know yet. I'm still trying to figure it out." Dean said, trying to convince himself that he knew what to do.

"Well, if you need me to help again, I will."

"Thanks, Michael. That means a lot." Dean stood up and walked out. Seeing all of the sick kids gave him the motivation to do something about the situation. He couldn't lose his brother, nor could Michael.

\----

As he reached the hallway of Sam's room, he noticed some movement going on inside the room. There were nurses and doctors running around inside, seeming to be in a hurry. In a panic, Dean ran inside of the room, but came to a dead stop when he saw what all of the commotion was about.

Crash Cart.

An ambu-bag over Sam's nose and mouth.

A nurse performing compressions on Sam's bare chest.

A spastic line and a loud beeping coming from the monitor next to the bed.

_No. This isn't happening._ Dean stood there, eyes wide. He let out a strangled cry, which did not go unnoticed by one of the nurses.

"Sir, you can't be in here. We need room to work." She said, forcefully guiding Dean out of the doorway.

"Sam! SAMMY! NO!" Dean cried. He turned to the doctor and nurses working on Sam. "Help him! Don't just stand there!"

"We're doing what we can! You need to leave the room!" The older doctor who had just grabbed the paddles shouted. "Still V-Fib! Charge to 200. Clear!" He brought the paddles back to Sam's chest, shocking his heart. His body lifted from the bed as electricity tore through his body, then fell back limp. The line on the monitor remained the same. "Come on! Charge to 300!" He brought the paddles back once again, as Dean looked on through the window. "Clear!" A steady, consistent trail of beeps resounded from the monitor.

Sam was alive.

The doctor let out a sigh of relief as he put the paddles back on the cart. "Welcome back, Sam." He continued to check Sam's vitals as the nurses cleared the equipment out of the room. As soon as he was finished, he walked outside the room to Dean, who was against the wall, struggling to breath. He grabbed Dean's shoulders.

"Calm down, Dean. Just sit and try to control your breathing. You can do it. Your brother is alive." He guided Dean to the floor. He rubbed Dean's back as his breathing began to even out. He helped Dean stand once again and guided him to the chair inside Sam's room. "You sit here and relax. Sam's alive." He received an uneasy nod in return. He left the room.

\----

Dean watched as the doctor and nurses worked on his brother. He heard some medical jargon that he didn't understand, making him very nervous. He watched as his brother's body lifted from the table, from the shock, for the first time. Dean's heart tore into a thousand pieces. His brother was dead. There was nothing he could do now.

Dean turned and faced the opposite wall. Seeing his brother like that became too much to handle. His throat began to constrict and the noises around him disappeared. He was lost completely in his own mind. Thoughts raced through his consciousness. Memories from when he and Sam were younger, and even as far back as the night of May 2, 1983 when Sam first came into his world. He remembered exactly how he felt the first time he held his baby brother in his 4-year-old arms. Slightly jealous of all the extra attention Sammy would be getting, yet proud to finally be a big brother.

He remembered Sam's first word, "Dean". Although, Sam was quite young so it sort of came out as "Dee." But Dean knew what he was trying to say.

He remembered Sam's first day of school. He had been so excited about going to school just like his big brother. He had got up so early that morning and jumped onto Dean's bed, but Dean told him to go back to bed. But, of course, Sam couldn't fall back to sleep, so he continued to pester him until he got up. It had been a long day for Dean, especially when Sam cam home after school an told him, in detail, what he had done there. Dean pretended to be annoyed, but inside he was just happy that his brother wanted to share those things with him.

He remembered the day their father had bought the Impala. The first time he had ever drove his baby, Sam was right next to him in the passenger seat, belting out the lyrics to AC/DC and Metallica with him.

Then he remembered the day Sam left. He had just got accepted to Stanford University, and their dad was all but happy with Sam wanting to go. He told Sam that if he was to leave, he should stay gone. Sam just packed and left in a mad rage, not even saying goodbye to his big brother. It was the worst pain he had felt in his entire life. Worse than all of his injuries on hunts. Worse than when his dad decided to up and leave him, with no explanation whatsoever.

Dean was so lost that he didn't even notice the hands on his shoulders, pushing him to the floor, and a voice giving him instructions. He just heard chunks of the sentences like, "Calm down", "control your breathing", "you can do it", "brother is alive". 

Alive. He knew what that word meant. It meant that everything would be okay, for the time being. He wasn't alone. Sammy didn't leave him.

Dean slowed down his breathing and regained his composure. He felt a pair of strong hands lift him from the floor and guide him to Sam's room and into a chair. The man, who Dean finally recognized as a doctor, told him to relax, then left.

Dean looked over at Sam. He was even paler than before. Dean reached out and fixed Sam's messy hair. _I swear, I keep telling him to cut it off and he never listens. Now would be the perfect opportunity..._ Dean thought about it for a moment. _Nah. I want him to happy when he wakes up. Not homicidal._

All joking aside, Dean was furious. He had to figure out how to stop Dr. Hydecker. Hoping to receive more help, he pulled out his laptop.

"If only I had my geek college boy to do the dirty work for me." Dean told Sam. He just wished he'd receive a response, but he didn't. Dean searched the internet for any information on Shtrigas. He knew that Sam said it was difficult to find, and it was. It took him a good 20 minutes to find a decent page that would give him any bit of information.

_Shtriga_

_The Shtriga, in Albanian Folklore, was a witch that would suck the spirtus vitaé (which is the living force of a person) out of people at night while they slept. Only the shtriga itself could cure those it had drained (often by spitting in their mouths) even in its human form, and those who were not cured inevitably sickened and died. It preferred to drink from young children or even infants._

_There are several methods traditionally considered effective for defending oneself from shtriga. A cross made of bone could be placed at an entrance, rendering any Shtriga inside unable to leave. They could then be captured and killed at the threshold as they vainly attempted to pass. After draining blood from a victim, the shtriga would generally go off into the woods and regurgitate it. If a silver coin were to be soaked in that blood and wrapped in cloth, it would become an amulet offering permanent protection from any shtriga._

Dean scanned the webpage for any useful information that could help him save Sammy and all of the kids upstairs. Only the Shtriga itself could cure those it had drained. Spitting in their mouths. _That's disgusting. But hey, if it works..._ Dean thought of what he could do to get the Dr. Hydecker to come into the room. He could always just call him. _No, that would be too suspicious._ Or, he could find him as he was leaving and bring him into the room, that way no one would be suspicious if they couldn't find him in the hospital. They'd just think he went home. So many ways this could be done. Dean knew he'd have to choose one soon. 

Time was running out.


	5. It's Showtime

Dean sat with the laptop at his fingertips for over an hour, continuing to seatch for the answers that would cure his brother. he had gone to every possible site that would give him any insight as to what his options were. He had stumbled upon another webpage that had said the Shtriga could also feed in their human form, meaning they would also become vulnerable in human form. He knew what he needed to do. He had to somehow lure Dr. Hydecker to the room, but it needed to be done at night, when he wouldn't be recognized as missing. It would have to be done discretely, in between the times the nurses came in and checked on Sam's condition. They usually came every hour, due to the severity of Sam's condition. Other than that, this wing of the hospital generally quieted down around 9 o'clock, so he had a strict window of opportunity between about 9:15 and 10 o'clock. Dean had to make sure he completed the task within those 45 minutes, or he could risk being caught, or risk losing Sam.

Dean looked at his watch. 7:15pm. He still had to prepare for tonight and find a way to get Dr. Hydecker to the room. He really wished he had his geek college boy to help with these things. Dean turned to Sam.

"Hey Sammy, I'm going to go out for a little while. I'll be back in a bit." Dean said, pushing Sam's hair from his pale face. He was actually eager for Sam to be awake and call him out on the major chick-flick moment. He wanted his little brother back.

\----

8:56pm.

Dean sat beside Sam eating a burger and sipping a Coke. He had returned a few minutes ago from town, where he got his supplies. He hid everything under Sam's bed in a duffel bag. The nurse would be coming in any minute now to check on Sam, so his things would need to be well-hidden.

As soon as Dean finished his meal, a young nurse named Lori opened the door. She walked over to Sam's bed, opposite Dean, and began to check Sam's vitals.

"Hey, Dean. How are you doing?"

"Okay, I guess. How's Sam?"

"Well, I'm going to be honest with you. It's really not looking good. His fever has gone up since this afternoon. I'll start him on some more fluids, and see if we can control it more than before. I'm just worried that if it gets any higher-" She was cut off as she caught her foot on something underneath the bed. She slid it out, but left it on the floor.

Dean froze.

"What's this?" Lori asked, grabbing at the zipper, pulling it back a few inches.

"It's just some clothes for Sam when he wakes up. I figured he wouldn't want to be in that gown for very long." Dean replied quickly, so she wouldn't continue to open the bag. His muscles relaxed and his panic disappeared as she zipped it back up and put it back.

"Yeah, those gowns can be awfully starchy. I've been telling the girls in the back to pump up the fabric softener, but I swear, my suggestions fall upon deaf ears." She laughed.

Dean gave her a forced smile, knowing that he'd have to hear more about how Sam's getting more sick. Dean decided to press the issue, to just get it over with.

"What were you saying about the fever?"

"Huh?" Lori paused. "Oh! Sorry! I was just saying how I'm worried that if his fever climbs any higher, or doesn't break soon, it could cause come major damage to his body."

"What kind of damage?" Dean asked, already knowing he wouldn't like the answer.

"Brain damage, organ failure..." Lori saw Dean's face pale and continued, "We're all doing everything we can to help your brother, Dean." She attempted a bit of humor to lighten the moment. "Besides, most of the young nurses on our staff have the hots for him, so they would like him to wake up soon, too." She winked.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Even when he's unconscious the girls want him."

_I must be rubbing off on him._

"Do you have any more questions?" Lori asked as she finished up.

Dean looked at his watch. 9:15pm. It was almost time.

"Nope. Thank you, Lori."

"No problem." She patted Dean's shoulder and left the room.

Dean got out his bag, and prepared for the attack. As soon as he felt he was ready, he went to the phone. He looked up Dr. Hydecker's extension, and dialed.

On the other line, Dr. Hydecker spoke.

"Dr. Hydecker..."

Dean cleared his throat. "Ah, yes, this is.." He looked on the sheet before him. "...Jerry, a nurse on the unit. You are needed in Room 242, one of your residents has some concerns about the patient and is requesting your assistance."

"Alright. I'll be there in a minute." He hung up, as did Dean.

"Okay, Sammy. It's showtime."


	6. The Confrontation

Dean waited behind the tan door at the opening of Sam's room. Any minute now, Dr. Hydecker would walk through that door and Dean would get him. He had to make sure he was quiet about it, as to not draw any attention to the room. This had to go down exactly as planned, or it could have devastating consequences. Not only for Sam, but for himself also.

Dean heard the footsteps approaching and peaked through the blinds. Dr. Hydecker was just feet away.

Dean's heart rate sped up and he began to tremble slightly. He never got nervous before a hunt, but this was so much different. His brother's life was on the line, along with dozens of other kids'. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for what was next.

The door handle twisted slowly, and the door opened. Dean pressed up tightly against the wall behind the door, staying as clearly out of Hydecker's line of vision as possible. Dr. Hydecker stepped in, his back to Dean and set down a stack of charts. He closed the door behind him and turned, unexpectedly coming face to face with Dean.

Dean saw Hydecker's eyes move to the silenced gun, and saw a flicker of fear in his eyes, before turning to amusement.

"You son of a bitch. I know what you've been doing to all those innocent kids." Dean said, anger pouring out in his words.

"Really. You think you can kill me with that?" Hydecker said, motioning to the gun. "Think again."

"Oh, I know a trick or two." Dean said, flashing his trademark grin.

He brought the gun up quickly, but not quickly enough. Hydecker caught Dean's arm halfway and knocked the gun to the floor. Dean watched as it skittered to the leg of the table near the door. He threw a successful punch to Hydecker's jaw, and made a reach for the gun. Unfortunately, he recovered quickly and grabbed Dean's right leg, pulling him down. Dean went down hard, left knee smacking the ground first, and catching the rest of his body with his hands. Years of training made Dean able to flip over and jump up to face his enemy. He threw himself at Hydecker, sending them both to the floor at the end of Sam's bed. They wrestled viciously, each fighting for the upper hand. Both got in a few good punches to the other's face.

_Come on, Dean. You have the gun cocked and everything! JUST GET TO IT! Sammy's life depends on it!_ Dean thought to himself. His thoughts, however, threw him off guard for only a split second, but long enough for Dr. Hydecker to gain the upper hand.

Dean quickly found himself on the losing end of the fight. Three consecutive punches got him hard below his left eye, bringing a ringing to his ears and blurring his vision. Darkness pulled at the edges of his sight as two hands grasped his neck and squeezed. They increased tightness with every second, the air quickly leaving Dean's lungs. He gasped for a breath and brought his arms up to hit Dr. Hydecker. With each hit, Dean's energy left quicker. He tried so hard to take in oxygen, but with no such luck.

As the darkness came creeping faster, Dean knew this was it. Hydecker was feeding.

_I've failed him. I can't save him. This is all my fault._

He heard a quiet pop, and the vice released it's deadly grip. His vision slowly cleared, the darkness receding. Dean looked up to see Dr. Hydecker's dead body shrivel up on top of him until there was nothing left.

Dean turned his head to see who had shot the gun. He saw the person standing inside the room and let out a gasp.

_Michael._

**Author's Note:**

> Please be gentle. I don't write often and I'm horribly self-conscious about it!


End file.
